


Devoted

by VTsuion



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, F/M, I feel so bad for Mary Morstan, Jealousy, M/M, Married Mary Morstan/John Watson, POV Mary Morstan, Past Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Period-Typical Homophobia, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2019-08-17 03:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16508498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VTsuion/pseuds/VTsuion
Summary: She loved him, she really did, and in a way she knew he loved her too. But sometimes, Mary Watson (nee Morstan) couldn't help but wonder if her husband didn't love someone else more. No action is without consequences, someone is always left worse off.





	1. A Treasure Lost and a Treasure Gained

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】Devoted 心之所向](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479721) by [Tink_Rin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tink_Rin/pseuds/Tink_Rin)



“ _If your friend would be good enough to stop, he might be of inestimable service to me.”_ Miss Mary Morstan held up a gloved hand to detain Dr. John Watson.

She wasn’t quite sure what had moved her to insist upon the doctor’s presence, even when she reflected upon it years later. Was it merely that her mysterious benefactor had advised that she bring two friends and she was seeking safety in numbers? Or had she, as she sometimes fancied, already had misgivings about the wild-eyed detective? Or perhaps she had glimpsed some of the doctor’s kind nature and already knew deep down that she wanted him by her side.

She never knew how their hands found each other in the dark, later that evening, as they waited for an answer at an unfamiliar door. She could feel his heart racing as hers was; with nerves and anticipation, but somehow she knew that she could rely on him and that he could rely on her. It was in that moment that she knew that the great fortune into which she had so suddenly come was no fortune at all.

 

***

 

“ _The treasure is lost,” said Miss Morstan calmly,_ and in her head she bid it “Good riddance.”

“ _Thank God!”_ Dr. Watson exclaimed as soon as the words left her mouth. He spoke not malevolently, but honestly, out of relief she fancied identical to her own.

“ _Why do you say that?”_ she asked with a quick, questioning smile - she hopped she already knew the answer.

“ _Because you are within my reach again,”_ he replied, taking her hand. _“Because I love you, Mary, as truly as ever a man loved a woman. Because this treasure, these riches sealed my lips. Now that they are gone I can tell you how I love you. That is why I said, ‘Thank God.’”_

She could not help but smile as he pulled her to his side, and why shouldn’t she?

“ _Then I say ‘Thank God,’ too,”_ she whispered.

That evening, he had to depart all too soon to help Mr. Holmes with the case, leaving her in the chair by the window with a foolish grin across her face as she stared off into the waning light. She was to be married! To a wonderful man, who she loved more than anything! Her life as it was supposed to be would finally begin...

 

***

 

It was a bright, warm day. A gentle breeze wafted through the window, into the cab. Mary was on her way to Baker street for the first time since the resolution of the case that had brought her and Dr. JohnWatson together some months ago. Always a gentleman, John preferred to meet her at Mrs. Forrester’s home and escort her from there, but they had arranged to go to a park that was much closer to Baker street than Camberwell, so it only made sense for her to come to meet him for a change.

The landlady met her at the door to 221 Baker street. “Miss Morstan, is it?” she asked with a hint of apprehension.

Mary answered with a curtsy.

“I take it you’re here to see Dr. Watson?” the landlady said as she led the way up the stairs.

“Yes,” Mary said. “John mentioned me?”

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. “A landlady can’t help but overhear things. Mr. Holmes and he have been arguing about it for days now, heated arguments at that. You ought to know what it is you’re getting into,” she explained sourly.

Mary frowned - what was that supposed to mean? Didn’t the famed consulting detective have more pressing matters to deal with than his flatmate’s fiancée?

She didn’t have time to ponder it, as the door swung open and she was greeted by an even more dismal image than the first time she had been to the cluttered apartment - John would no doubt benefit from a woman’s touch, as far as housekeeping went. The sitting room was filled with stacks of boxes as tall as she was, obscured by heavy, dark smoke.

“Mr. Holmes, how can you breathe with so much smoke in the air?” the landlady chided, her admonishment interrupted by hacking coughs.

Mary covered her mouth and nose with a gloved hand in an attempt to ease her breathing, but she could not help but cough as well.

There was no reply as the landlady scurried inside and hauled open a window. The detective finally made his presence known amid the haze, unfolding himself from one of the chairs in front of the fireplace to help her. Then they set about fanning out the room with papers that had been thrown across the table. Mary stepped inside to help them.

After much waving about, the air finally cleared, and the landlady returned downstairs to tend her business, leaving Mary alone with Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

The detective stared down at her with piercing grey eyes, an expression of disdain etched across his face. She met his eyes defiantly and for a moment neither of them said a word. The tension mounted and the silence began to wear on her until she couldn’t help but break it. He was looking at her as if she had committed some crime in coming to visit her fiancé. What problem did he have with it?

“If I may ask, what are all these boxes for?” she asked, a very picture of politeness.

For an instant the detective’s lips twitched into a grimace, replaced as soon as it had come by an expression of disdainful disinterest. “Dr. Watson is moving into the room on the main floor.” He gestured towards a door in the far wall.

“What? Why?” What would necessitate a change in rooms? John would be moving out soon anyway.

He gave her a twisted, unkind smile, that sent a shiver of fear and repulsion down her spine. “Queer, isn’t it,” he said sardonically.

Mary didn’t know how to reply to that. She cast around the room for something to say and avoided the detective’s unblinking stare. How John managed to live with the man...

Suddenly, the detective continued, his disinterested demeanor returned as though it had never gone. “I assume you are here to see my dear Dr. Watson?” he asked, a barely perceptible emphasis on the word “my.”

She nodded. “Yes, John and I had plans to go-”

“Of course,” Mr. Holmes cut her off and called up the stairs, “Watson, you have a visitor!”

“Oh! My apologies,” she heard her dear John’s familiar voice call down from the upper level, easing her nerves, “I lost track of time, I will be down in a moment, my dear!”

 

They set up their little picnic in the middle of a grassy field, between neat little groves of trees and brightly colored flower beds, in one of the many parks that interrupted the grey and brown of the city. They nibbled on tea sandwiches as they talked and enjoyed the scenery and each other’s company.

“If I may ask,” Mary said, interrupting a comfortable pause in the conversation. “I don’t mean to-

“Ask away,” John said with an easy smile, taking her hand in his.

“What are all those boxes in your living room for?”

His eyes widened and narrowed in surprise, and for an instant he seemed taken aback. She was about to retract the question when he chuckled and explained, “I am merely preparing to move out, I have my eye on a lovely house that would be perfect for the two of us.”

Mary couldn’t help but smile. “That makes much more sense than what Mr. Holmes said.”

She was about to continue, but he interrupted, “What did Holmes say?” There was a peculiar intensity to his expression.

“That you were moving into a room on the main floor,” she said.

He gave her a look of confusion that almost seemed to border on hurt.

“I didn’t understand it either,” Mary said. “I wonder what he would say that for.”

John shook his head and looked off into the distance. “I don’t know,” he said with a sigh.

She squeezed his hand in an attempt to comfort him. “The landlady said you’d been arguing.”

“We have.” He turned to face her. “But don’t worry about it, Holmes is... Holmes. He’ll live, I hope…” He glanced down.

There was a long pause before she spoke, “How can such a kind, normal man like you be friends with…”

“Holmes,” he finished her sentence with a wry smile. “I know, it seems mad. I think I’m mad for living with him sometimes.” He chuckled, though his eyes did not leave the ground. “But sometimes he’s extraordinary. He solves cases like the one that brought us together,” - he squeezed her hand and glanced up at her - “as though it were more natural than breathing. He’s not the nicest person, but he is a great man, and a good one. I don’t know how it happened, but with everything Holmes and I have done together, perhaps it would be difficult not to become close.”


	2. I Plight Thee My Troth

“I, John Hamish Watson, take thee, Mary Morstan, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth,” he held her right hand in his as he recited his vows.

They loosed hands.

Then, she took his right hand with hers and recited, “I, Mary Morstan, take thee, John Hamish Watson, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

They loosed hands once more. The minister handed John the ring and it slipped from his hand - to shake out all the evil spirits, as the superstition went. He quickly bent over to pick it up and slid it onto the fourth finger of her left hand.

Holding the ring in place, he recited, “With this Ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Mary felt the ring on her finger, gleaming against her skin, as John left it there. She could barely contain her joy, and why should she? She was married! She stared into her _husband_ ’s eyes, her eyes gleaming. He met her gaze, calm and steady as ever, a small smile playing across his lips. He had been so nervous leading up to the wedding, it was a relief to finally see him happy and relaxed.

And why shouldn’t he be? They were married! She could hardly believe it, but it was true, and that made it all the more incredible. She fancied this was the happiest day of her life, and who knew, perhaps it was. At that moment, there was nothing that could have made her any less than ecstatic.

But even then, there was a twinge of doubt in the back of her mind, reminding her of Mr. Holmes…

The minister finished the blessing and she and John made their way down the aisle arm in arm, under a shower of rice. She looked straight ahead toward their future together, careful not to turn right or left, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw John’s head twitch away from her, as if he was trying to glance back at the alter, but stopped himself in time.

 

***

 

Mrs. Forrester had been kind enough to lend them her home for the reception as Mary had none of her own. She and John stationed themselves in a corner, which had been adorned with bouquets of roses and orange blossoms for the occasion, and were swept away in the greetings and congratulations of everyone who had attended. It felt like all of London had come, though she would have sworn the guest list had not exceeded fifty.

As the stream of new arrivals thinned and their guests dispersed into the hall where they stood around talking, she noticed John begin to fidget. Mr. Holmes had yet to arrive. She was not surprised; the arguments had apparently not ceased as the wedding neared and she had heard that it was with much reluctance that he had agreed to be the first man. But kind, sweet John never once blamed Mr. Holmes for it. Mary had half a mind to speak to the detective herself, but she didn’t know what she could say that wouldn’t do more harm than good.

Mary squeezed her husband’s hand, and craned her neck to whisper in his ear, “Don’t worry about him,” she said, “Don’t let him ruin this day for you.”

He gave her a small smile. “I won’t. I just hope he’s alright.”

“And I hope _you_ ’re alright.”

They stood there some minutes longer, just in case another guest were to arrive, and finally Mr. Holmes did appear. Almost immediately she saw John break into a grin of relief. The tension that had been building all but vanished. Mr. Holmes gave a slight smile at the sight of the effect he had on her husband, but it did not last long.

He greeted Mary first, as was customary, but with a curt nod and a frown.

“At long last,” John exclaimed, bustling with nervous excitement for the first time that morning, as Mr. Holmes turned to him. “I was worried you left without saying good bye!”

“It crossed my mind...” Mr. Holmes answered simply.

“Well I, for one, am glad you came.” John clasped his hand in an eager shake and for a moment they stood there, their eyes locked in a strange battle of wills.

Finally, they separated and Mr. Holmes forced out an uncertain, “Congratulations, my dear Watson.” Mary did not know if she had imagined a slight emphasis on the word “my.”

“Come, join the festivities,” John said eagerly and Mr. Holmes consented, but he seemed less than pleased.

They all made their way through the crowd, wading through second and even third greetings and congratulations from their guests, as they approached the table at which the rest of the bridal party was already seated. John helped Mary into a seat next to Mrs. Forrester before sitting down beside her. Mr. Holmes took the open chair on his other side. When they were all seated, John served his wife and then himself. Mary began to eat, suddenly realizing just how hungry she had been.

Meanwhile, John turned to Mr. Holmes, “Holmes, have something to eat, relax, enjoy yourself perhaps...”

“I am not hungry,” Mr. Holmes insisted, ignoring the rest, his expression set.

 

Breakfast soon ended with little time to eat and even less for conversation. They cut the cakes and soon the newlyweds left to change into clothes for the road - they would be leaving for their honeymoon from the reception. Mary was helped out of her wedding gown, into a sensible light blue dress, suited for travel. After a moment to herself, she stepped out into the hall to wait for John.

She heard raised voices emanating from the room across from hers. It was John and Mr. Holmes. She couldn’t quite make out the words, but they got clearer as the conflict seemed to escalate and the voices inside grew louder.

“I made my choice!” she heard John insist.

She approached the door, unable to contain her curiosity.

John’s voice suddenly dropped so she could only barely make out the words from right outside, “You made yours.”

“ _This_ ,” she heard Mr. Holmes sneer in reply, “Was not my choice.”

“I’m sorry Holmes, this conversation is over,” John said. He then said something else, but it was too quiet for her to understand.

She barely had enough presence of mind to step out of the way before Mr. Holmes left the room, slamming the door behind him. She nearly jumped at the loud noise and her heart began to race as her mind filled with excuses. She quieted her raging thoughts as she watched Mr. Holmes pace the corridor, pointedly ignoring her.

Finally she forced her mind into sufficient order to ask in simple confusion, “Why are you here, if you don’t mind my asking? You obviously don’t want to be, and I imagine you would be much happier if you hadn’t come. Why did you?”

There was a long, thoughtful pause before he responded, almost too quiet for her to hear, “For John,” and left without another word.

 

***

 

The room they were staying in was dark. Mary lay upon the bed, staring up at the ceiling, her white nightgown splayed out around her. Her husband lay sleeping beside her, but as tired as she was, she could not join him. Her heart raced with the pure elation of the day. She was married! Her cheeks were still flushed with joy.

But deep down she knew that wasn’t the only thing keeping her awake. A nagging doubt simmered in the back of her mind; what of Mr. Holmes? She could not deny that there was something amiss.

John loved her, he had married her, for goodness’s sake! Was that not enough? But she already knew the answer; it couldn’t be, could it? Her gut and everything she had ever been told said that it was _wrong_. But this was John she was talking about, her dear, beloved John. Could she condemn him for something she did not even understand?

He was her _husband_ ; he had chosen to marry _her_ , was that not enough?

She wanted to trust him, and why couldn’t she? He had not given her any cause for distrust, he was a kind, honorable man, laws of man and God be damned, if it came to that! What did they have if not trust between them?

He had made his choice, and that was that. She ought to be happy that he had chosen her.


	3. Just a Case

Mary sat waiting in the dim light of a single lantern. A book lay open upon her lap, but she’d spent more time glancing up at the door than reading. John was out visiting a patient. He had said he would be back by nightfall, but the sun had set over two hours ago. She hopped he was alright, but that was all she could do.

Finally, she heard the front door creak open and his heavy footfall echoed through the halls as he approached. She threw herself to her feet. The book fell to the ground unheeded.

“John! There you are!” she exclaimed, and threw her arms around him as he entered the room. “I was beginning to worry!”

“My apologies,” John said, holding her gently in his arms. “I passed the old Baker street flat on my way home and you know how long it’d been since I’d seen Holmes; I owed him a visit, and then a client arrived, so it took longer than expected. If you don’t mind, I promised to join him tomorrow morning to work on it with him…”

Mary looked up into his face, examined his eager, hopeful expression. It couldn’t hurt, could it? It was just a case; that was all. She trusted him.

“Of course I don’t mind,” she finally replied with a small smile. “Just be careful, I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

But it wasn’t just a case, and she knew it.

 

***

 

“Good night.” John said with a kiss to the top of her head, “Sleep well,” and then he was off into the city night, leaving her to warm their marital bed alone.

“I would love to stay for dinner, but Holmes and I are working on this case…”

“Good morning dear, I’m helping Holmes on a case, so I don’t know when I’ll be back…”

“I love you too. Now, I’ve got to go, else I’ll be late for meeting Holmes.”

It was the seventh time that month and counting.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine alone tonight, Holmes just got another case and he wants me to be there…”

“Of course Holmes wants you to be there,” she wanted to reply bitterly, but she couldn’t.

And it was always, “Holmes, Holmes, Holmes,” John talked of nothing but the infernal detective in the few hours that he found himself at home! She could have sworn she heard more of Mr. Holmes than she saw of John. He talked of cases and deductions and even the little jokes they had shared by the fireplace, _ad infinitum_!

But when he did, it was always with that smile…

Whenever Mr. Holmes’ name was so much as mentioned, John couldn’t help but smile. He would come home worn from exertion, but flushed with energy at the strangest hours, chattering of brilliance with a grin across his face.

And she couldn’t help but wait up for him at those odd hours and listen to his exaltations. She couldn’t help but smile too, smile and laugh, though deep down it stung bitterly that not even she, his own wife, could make him happy; it was only Mr. Holmes who could do that.

But he was happy.

But only because of Mr. Holmes.

But he was happy.

But she wasn’t.

 

***

 

 

 

“Have a lovely time in the countryside. I wish I could join you, but you will just have to relax enough for the both of us,” John said into Mary’s ear as they embraced on the platform.

“I’m looking forward to seeing them, but it’s a social visit, not a vacation,” she said lightly.

“Don’t forget to enjoy it yourself,” he insisted as she hurried off to catch the train.

“I love you!” she called out from a nearby window.

He called back, “I’ll see you again soon! I’ll be standing right here when you return!”

“Good bye!” she shouted as the train pulled away from the station.

They both waved long after the other was out of sight.

 

***

 

“My dearest Mary,” the letter read, “I have been most preoccupied of late, else I would have written sooner. Our home has been very lonely without you and I find myself spending as little time as possible within. I hope you have been enjoying your stay and have been getting much needed rest. I eagerly await your return. With love,” signed, “John H. Watson”

And that was the only letter she received in the few weeks she was away. Still, she read it each evening, even after she knew it by heart. As she sat on the train, homeward bound at last, she read it through again and again, clinging to every word in hopes that they would spur the train onward, bringing her closer and closer to home with every word.

Finally the train rolled into the station and she joined the flood of passengers straining at the door that they suddenly found much too small. After what seemed like minutes of standing and avoiding being pushed or pushing into anyone else, a kind older man helped her out and she found herself on the open platform.

She scanned the crowd back and forth in search of John, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps he had gotten the wrong time? Or if he had a patient, there wasn’t anything he could do about that, could he? Not if someone needed him. But a nagging doubt in the back of her mind told her exactly where he was - exactly who “needed” her husband. But no, that wasn’t fair to him! Maybe he was just running late. That was a perfectly reasonable explanation, wasn’t it? Now, no need to jump to conclusions-

“Mrs. Watson?” It was a messenger boy.

“Yes? I am she,” she replied.

“Your husband sent me to give you this-” he handed her the fare for a cab home, “And to tell you that he finds himself preoccupied, but will meet you at home.”

How kind of him, she internally sneered, but at least he had sent the messenger…

 

She stepped inside, over the threshold John had first carried her over only months before to find the house silent. Her footsteps echoed against the floor long after the sound had ceased. The cabby carried in her trunk and left it upon the floor, leaving her to explore the dark house on her own.

As soon as he was gone, she called out, “John! John, are you home yet?”

No reply.

“Anyone?” she asked a little quieter as she peeked into the kitchen.

Even the servant girl appeared to be out.

She made her way around the house, under the pretense of putting away her luggage, and found it utterly empty.

 

John returned late that evening. Mary was sitting in the living room, working at her embroidery as the hours ticked away. She heard him enter, but pretended not to notice even as he approached.

“Mary! There you are!” he exclaimed, out of the corner of her eye, she could see the telltale grin across his face.

She barely glanced up from her work.

“I’m sorry for not picking you up,” he said, though it sounded like he was more interested in explaining his absence than apologizing for it. He eagerly continued, “Holmes had a case and by the time it was done it was too late, see-”

She stood as soon as he mentioned Mr. Holmes and was out of the room without a word before he could finish.

She lay upon their bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Earlier, she had been fuming, but by then she was just tired. Tired of Mr. Holmes and even more so, tired of herself. The only thing she wasn’t tired of was John, and she hated herself all the more for it. But there wasn’t anything she could do about that. She loved John, she could not deny it. And she also could not deny that Mr. Holmes made John happy in a way she could not and _that_ was what shook her to the core.

There was _nothing_ she could do, but let it happen.

It was wrong and immoral, but above all else it was personal. She didn’t know what happened on those visits and she didn’t really care. Butshe cared about the distance that had grown between her and John - the distance that Mr. Holmes had imposed upon them. They barely ever saw each other even though they theoretically shared the same room, the same life!

And she had just let it happen.

But it made John so happy. A restlessness she hadn’t even known was there faded away when he saw Mr. Holmes. He seemed so much more relaxed, more at ease. But at the same time, to her he became distant and preoccupied. But he was so happy, happier than he had been at their wedding or on their honeymoon! All she could do was step back and let it happen.

All she had wanted was a normal, peaceful, happy life! With a kind, loving husband, who loved _her_! She wanted to do right by him, to tend the house and have his children and live out their days together. This was not what she had wanted! But she could not want anything else. She loved John, she couldn’t imagine a life with anyone else. If only Mr. Holmes wasn’t there, getting in the way…

But he made John so happy. And she didn’t.

All she could do was weep at his happiness.

 

***

 

One morning, Mary sat at breakfast, nibbling at her eggs and toast as she contemplated her plans for the day. Perhaps she would visit Mrs. Forrester; that might help to take her mind off of things. She did not know what her husband’s plans for the day were, but she didn’t particularly want to know.

She was trying to redirect her mind from the thought when in walked John himself.

“Good morning,” he said awkwardly as he sat down across from her.

There were so many things that Mary could have said, but perhaps because of them, she said nothing and made no move to acknowledge him.

He rang for the servant girl, who hurriedly brought him breakfast. They ate without a word. Several times, John opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, but to her relief and disappointment, he did not break the heavy silence.

She quickly finished eating and considered standing and going about her daily business, but something – a foolish hope in the back of her mind, perhaps – held her back. Instead she felt her hands begin to fidget with her fork and knife- She clasped her hands together, entrapping her fingers between each other. But it was not long before her feet began to tap-

“Mary…” John began awkwardly, cutting through her absent thoughts.

She froze and glanced up at him, not trusting herself to speak. Instead, she merely gave him a skeptical, inquiring look that invited him to continue, though did not in the least promise to withhold judgment.

There was a long pause - Mary was inordinately proud that she held still the entire time - before he continued, “I… I was thinking- I don’t have any work today and that perhaps- perhaps we could go for a walk, perhaps have a picnic lunch…” he rambled.

“What about Mr. Holmes?” she said before she could stop herself.

John seemed taken aback and she was about to apologize when she stopped herself. She loved John and she would do anything for him, but _she_ had done nothing wrong.

There was another long pause, as tension buzzed around them, before he spoke once more, “Mary, I-” he cut himself off, unsure what to say.

There was a long silence as neither dared to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she finally recanted, breaking the silence, “I don’t know what came over me. A picnic sounds lovely.” She gave him a small, weak smile.


	4. A Great Affection

Mary had been hearing a lot less of Mr. Holmes lately and seeing a lot more of John, but still it felt like a precarious position, like it was too good to last.

“What is it?” John inquired from across the breakfast table, glancing between her worried expression and the letter she held in her hands.

She looked up at him, searching his bright blue eyes. There had been a bit of hesitation to his tone, but he spoke warmly and wore a tender, concerned expression- There she was, doubting him again, testing his love for her! Couldn’t she just let it be? Couldn’t she just accept that he loved her? He had stopped seeing Mr. Holmes for her, for goodness’ sake! She wondered how often the detective crossed his mind- No! Couldn’t she just be satisfied with her present good fortune?

“It’s just an invitation,” she explained reluctantly, with a slight reassuring smile - though who she was reassuring, she did not know - “A few friends of mine would like me to join them at their new home in the countryside.”

“You don’t want to go?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It would be nice, but…” she trailed off, unsure what to say.

He took her hand in his. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“You’re sure…?”

He nodded in understanding. “I’m sure. Enjoy yourself. I’ll come to pick you up at the station when you return, I promise.” He gave her a small smile that she managed to return.

 

“Have a safe trip!” John called after her as she boarded the train, and she was off.

 

***

 

At the end of the visit, Mary was glad to be returning home. She had enjoyed her time away, it had been diverting, at the very least, but she wanted to see John again. He had sent no letter, and she could not help but wonder how her dear husband was spending his time in her absence. She half hoped that John had gone to see Mr. Holmes - they both knew he would be happier for it. But at the same time, she dreaded it. She dreaded her dear John forgetting her in favor of the detective.

And so, she returned home full of nerves and questions that she was not sure she wanted the answers to. But she could not avoid them. The train rolled up to the station all too soon, yet hardly soon enough, and she deliberately made her way out, onto the platform. She carefully scanned the crowd, examining every face for a sign of the familiar. She even noticed each of the messenger boys, in case John had sent one for her.

Not a chance.

Where could John be? He had promised to meet her on the platform. He could be visiting a patient, if there was an emergency he wouldn’t have much of a choice. But Mary didn’t believe that, not for an instant. Chances were, he was out working on a case with Mr. Holmes and he had even forgotten to send a messenger boy. And she had thought things were going so well. Maybe he would come for her, maybe he was just running late…

She sat down to wait.

An hour later, she gave up. He wasn’t coming to get her, she might as well just return home and meet him there.

A short cab ride later and she entered their all too quiet house. The cabby followed her inside, leaving her trunk on the floor, and then she was left in silence. She did not bother to call out into the no doubt empty house, as she set about returning her belongings to their proper places. But as she passed the study she heard a faint sound coming from inside.

She opened the door to find John there, his head down on the table, his body shaking. A wrinkled sheet of paper was clasped in his hand. He looked terrible.

“John!” she exclaimed, her anger gone, “Are you alright?”

He did not reply.

She dropped everything and swept to his side. His hair was matted and his clothes had not been cleaned in days. All in all, he was a sight to behold.

She gingerly wrapped an arm around his shoulder and spoke softly into his ear in an attempt to rouse him, “John…”

A convulsive shudder ran down his spine, but he did not move.

Under any other circumstances, she would have let him stay there and sleep it off, but there was something wrong. If she was stronger, she would have carried him to bed and let him rest properly, as he obviously needed the sleep, but she doubted that she could support him, let alone carry him. She was sure Mr. Holmes could have- But thank God Mr. Holmes was not there. No, she could care for her husband on her own.

With that thought she gently lifted him up of his desk until he weighed upon her shoulders. A stream of disconcerted, distressed sound flooded from his mouth, but she could not make out a word. She carefully walked him to their bedroom and lay him out upon their bed, before sitting down beside him. She stretched out her aching shoulders.

She could not leave him alone, not like this. The entire afternoon and late into the evening, she sat watch over him, alternating between reading, embroidery, and simply observing him. She could not help but wonder what had happened and what it had to do with Mr. Holmes.

\--

“Holmes!” she heard John croak in anguish, jolting her into awareness - she must have dozed off.

He lay upon the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his gaze transfixed upon a spot above him. He had stopped tossing and turning as he had been earlier, and was now lying frozen in place.

“John!” she exclaimed, “Are you alright? What happened?”

He turned to face her. For a moment he seemed confused, as if bewildered by her presence. Then, suddenly he bolted upright and spoke; his voice was still rough, but the words poured out, tumbling all over each other, “Holmes! Holmes! He’s- he’s dead! I should have- He- he fell at Reichenbach! It was Moriarty! He sacrificed himself to kill him and now he’s dead! And I should have been there- I should have saved him, but I left and now he’s dead! And it’s all my fault!”

“John!” Mary pleaded, finally breaking through his tearful outburst. She took his hand in hers. “John, it’s okay. You’re alright, you’re safe here… I- I’m here...”

“You don’t understand!” he exclaimed and pushed her hand aside, “Holmes is dead!” He shoved himself into a sitting position. His expression was one of utter despair.

She could hardly believe what she had pieced together,but this was not the time for an explanation. It didn’t matter what had happened. What mattered now was that John was okay, and by God he had to be okay.

She wrapped her arms around him and held tight. “It’ll be alright, I promise, it’ll be alright…”

 

***

 

The next morning, Mary awoke from a strange, half slumber to find John sleeping restlessly beside her. The curtains were open, letting the bright light of the mid-morning sun flood into the room, giving it a warm, cheery glow. But the sight of her husband, so tired and worn, dampened the contentment that came from a clear day.

She was reluctant to leave him, but there were things that needed taking care of. So she carefully removed herself from their bed and changed into fresh clothes, before stepping out of the bedroom.

To her surprise, she found a large, round man, dressed in a soft woolen mourning suit, sitting patiently upon their living room couch. He stared off into space in what appeared to be a state of deep abstraction.

“Almost as quiet as the Diogenes Club, not quite, but it sufficed as long as it needed to,” he remarked, apparently more to himself than her, as she hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, and he didn’t even glance away from the spot on the wall he had been staring at. She gave him an inquiring look and was about to speak when he turned to her and explained, “Mycroft Holmes, brother to the late Sherlock Holmes. Mrs. Watson, I presume?” He finished with half a bow, though he did not stand.

She nodded reluctantly and curtsied.

“I take it you are aware of my dear brother’s untimely demise.” It was more of a statement than a question.

She nodded again. “John- Dr. Watson told me,” she explained. “Do you know what happened? He’s in a right state.”

Mr. Holmes the elder nodded. “I assumed as much. I’ve taken the liberty of preparing the funeral. There is no body, so there won’t be any dealing with that, but he’ll have a proper burial nonetheless. There will be a large attendance and I expect Dr. Watson will be there.”

“Th-Thank you...?” she replied so taken aback by the mater-of-fact way that Mr. Holmes spoke about the matter that she hardly noticed that he had neglected to answer her question.

What was he doing, organizing his own brother’s funeral? Friends were supposed to do the work, to let the family rest, but Mr. Holmes the elder seemed to be having none of it.

 

***

 

On the appointed day, a carriage met them outside the door and took them to the church where the funeral would be taking place. It was the first time in days that either of them had left the house. The young couple made a dismal pair, both dressed in black. John sat stony faced, with deep weeds upon his hat. Mary held his hand as though that alone could anchor him to Earth.Neither said a word, or even exchanged a glance between them. John stared off into nothingness and she did not take her concerned eyes off of him.

Upon their arrival, they were escorted into a small, plain room adjoining the sanctuary, where Mr. Mycroft Holmes sat talking quietly with the priest - no doubt making last minute arrangements - beside a closed casket that she knew to be empty.

“Dr. and Mrs. Watson, there you are,” Mr. Holmes remarked upon their arrival, glancing up from his conversation. “Not a moment too soon.”

This time he stood to greet them. Mary curtsied, but John merely gave a dazed nod.

“Father Pine.” Mr. Holmes gestured towards the clergyman.

Mary curtsied again andtook her husband’s arm.

“May God be with you,” Father Pine said, primarily to John. “I am aware you were very close friends with the deceased?”

John nodded. “I shared a flat with Holmes for sev-several years,” he said, his voice rough and almost too quiet to be heard. “I-I worked with him during that time.”

“And he was a consulting detective, you said?” he asked with a glance at Mr. Holmes the elder.

Mr. Holmes nodded in reply.

“I have heard he was a good man, may God judge him worthy,” Father Pine said with a bow.

At that, John let out a sharp cough that could have been a sob or a humorless laugh, but it passed much too quickly for Mary to truly make anything of it.

“I must go to take care of the preparations, if you will excuse me.” Father Pine left with another bow.

As soon as he was gone, Mr. Holmes turned to John. “You will be staying in here with me.”

John nodded and he seated himself by the head of the empty casket, next to Mr. Holmes, who served as the closest of kin. Mary sat beside him and squeezed his hand. The benches surrounding the casket were empty hold for them-

“There shouldn’t be anyone else joining us,” Mr. Holmes said as though in answer to her very thoughts.

“How did you-” Mary began.

“Deduction,” John said automatically, without glancing away from the empty casket.

“Quite right,” Mr. Holmes explained, “One could say I have a penchant for observation, as my brother did, but perhaps less practical.” He glanced at John who merely nodded.

“He was so brilliant…” John whispered, his voice so quiet it was nearly inaudible. “... All of London, if not the world, will suffer for his loss…”

“That they will,” Mr. Holmes the older replied simply. “He had a great affection for you, you know.”

John nodded. “I-I know,” he breathed and buried his face in his hands as he began to cry.

Mary wrapped an arm around him because it was all she could do.


	5. With a Vengeance

Mr. Holmes had returned with a vengeance. As far as Mary had gathered, his body was somewhere in the Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland, but as far as she was concerned, he was more present than ever. Almost two years later and the household would still be in mourning had Mary not finally insisted that enough was enough after a year and a half. But just because she had donned lighter dresses did not mean that the solemn air of mourning had lifted.

At first they had many visitors; a pair of inspectors of the Yard, a few of John’s brothers in arms, and several of her friends had come to pay their respects and lend a few comforting words. Mr. Holmes the elder often visited - Mary wondered why he was not receiving guests at his own home, but he never answered most questions.

That all soon ended and they were left to resume life as usual. John returned to his practice with renewed fervor, taking so many patients that Mary feared he wouldn’t be able to handle them all. And when he wasn’t working, he was writing. At that moment, as Mary sat in the living room sewing, for something to do with her hands as she thought, John was locked away in his study no doubt bent over a manuscript. He had published 12 stories in 11 months and was still going at it relentlessly-

A sharp pain struck her finger as the needle pricked it. She pulled the finger away away to find it wounded, but not bleeding. She let out a sigh. She should have known better than to sew while she was so distracted. She put aside the cloth, needle, and thread. Perhaps she could entice John into taking a walk; staying cooped up all day would do him no good.

With that in mind, she knocked once at the study door and made to enter. She found her husband sitting at the desk, his head in his hands as he stared down at a half-written manuscript. There was a moment before he suddenly looked up, as if belatedly startled by her presence.

“John, are you alright?” she asked as she carefully approached him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “I’m alright…”

She took his hand in hers. “Come, you spend too much time cooped up in here, it can’t be healthy. Let’s get some fresh air, go for a promenade, perhaps?”

He shook his head and withdrew his hand. “I can’t, I have to finish writing-”

She took his hand again. “You know as well as I that you can’t stay buried in the past forever. Come, live! John, I’m worried for you-”

“I get out when I call upon my patients,” he said, his expression stony.

She sighed and let his hand drop. “I understand. I’m sorry for disturbing your work.”

She was halfway out the door when she had an idea. She turned back toward him with a small smile and said, “I would be honored if you would join me for dinner this evening.” Then she gave him a teasing little curtsy and look her leave.

She glanced back to see him watching her go, with a slight smile across his face, though it soon faded away as he returned to his writing.

 

***

 

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining, puffy white clouds floated lazily across the bright blue sky. There was a brisk breeze that kept the smog away, but it was not too cold to be comfortable. All in all, it was a perfect day to spend outside, perhaps to go for a picnic. But when Mary awoke, John was on the way out to visit a patient. It was a shame, but work was work.

He had left a note upon his pillow that read, “Dearest Mary, old man Jenkins is feeling ill and so it appears I must pay him a visit, but I hope to be home by mid-day and would be honored if you would join me on a promenade. With love,” signed, “John H. Watson”

She could not help but grin at the prospect. It appeared John was feeling better, perhaps it was the weather, or perhaps time had just done its work, but either way, she felt a weight fall from her shoulders as she set about preparing for the day.

As she had no plans until the afternoon, in the meantime she decided she might as well pay a visit to whomever had just moved into the empty flat across the street. She had yet to see their new neighbor, just several carriages that had come to the typically silent building.

But when she knocked at the door to the upstairs flat, it swung open to reveal an open, empty chamber, hold for a large cushion by the far window. The window itself was open and from it she could see into her own living room.

“Excuse me…” it was the landlord.

She spun around to face him. “Oh! I’m sorry! I thought someone had moved in here and I had come to welcome them, but when I knocked the door opened. I’m sorry, I shouldn't have been snooping around...”

“It’s quite alright,” the landlord cut her off. “There is a man who’s interested in the place, Mr. Holmes, he said his name was. I thought you were him; he’s been around a lot.”

It could not be a coincidence. But Holmes was a common last name, when she thought about it. It was just thanks to John that the only thing she could think of was the late detective.

Still, she couldn’t help but ask, “What sort of a man is he?”

The landlord shrugged. “He seems to be a fairly average sort. He’s a quiet man, I’m not sure how I would describe him; there’s nothing about him that stands out, but he’s very interested in the flat. I think he’d make a fine neighbor.”

Mary nodded. That had told her a lot of nothing, but she was asking after a dead man. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Not a problem. How’s Dr. Watson doing?” the landlord asked.

“Better, thank you,” she said with a smile. “You and the missus should come around for dinner, visitors would be much appreciated.”

“We should be able to arrange that,” he replied.

“Good day.”

“Good day to you too, Mrs. Watson.”

She curtsied and took her leave.

 

***

 

Mary and John returned home from their walk as the sun set in a brilliant array of deep reds, and purples, and oranges all across the sky. They both wore wide smiles and the sound of laughter echoed around them. For the time being at least, things were finally looking up.

They talked avidly, for the first time in months. Every so often, John would glance down, his expression serious as he remembered something. Or as they were talking a small sad smile would flit across his face. But Mary would give his hand a reassuring squeeze and soon enough the conversation would resume. They sat down to an early supper before heading to the sitting room. John reclined upon the couch as Mary sat beside him, her hand in his.

“... and it’s not even that late,” Mary remarked with an instinctive glance outside.

Across the way she could see the upstairs window of the empty flat.

She did a double take.

There was a figure up there, a man laying upon the ground looking down at them. He was pointing something in their direction. In the corner of her eye, she saw John follow her gaze and tense up.

“John! Get down!” she exclaimed, pushing in front of him.

She heard the crash of a pane of glass shattering. A searing pain tore through her and she fell limply to the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on fanfiction.net and was edited in November 2018 for cross-posting.


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